Cutters Anonymous

The blade, the one thing I can't live with out. It's my alcohol, my drug, my addiction. Dragging it across my already scarred up wrist, I feel that rush. That burst of an instint high. It feels amazing. The burning as is peirces my skin, the numbness as the blood runs down my arm, that perfect, undescribable feeling. They told me to quit, I told them no. When I try to stop, the blade, the feeling of being loved, the enjoyment I get from watching myself bleed... it calls me back everytime. My mind says 'stop', my body says 'No, don't stop. This is somthing you want. You fucking want it!'. I press the blade to my wrist and watch as blood pours from my vein. I close my eyes and lay there a while, finally I don't have to try, I can be me; in this land of make believe we call death.